READ
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things that enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully ,mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly ,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody ,not even the rain,has such small hands
--E. E. Cummings
LOOK
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WRITE!
Stretch out to meet me
in some other time,
and you shall be muse.
you shall be wine.
I swim like a shark
to you, through shit,
down to the sea,
As if for the first time.
Groping way down,
give me your dark things.
When we find
we are all mortar,
And in-between us
the jelly-rolls of space.
And a little further on
We are fissures of light.
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